


My love has concrete feet

by DancingInTheRain



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Arranged Marriage, Dom/sub, Falling In Love, M/M, Relationship Negotiation, Updating tags as we go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-06 23:31:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4240848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DancingInTheRain/pseuds/DancingInTheRain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This piece of fiction is highly inspired by luninosity’s “Like Sugar”-series. Thanks for giving me the permission, honey. I myself am sadly inexperienced in this area, so all my knowledge is drawn from the series linked above. It’s not my intent to insult anyone or harm any feelings, if my story does so, please let me know. </p>
<p>The sole intention of this thingy is my own pleasure in toying around with this amazing approach of Dom/Sub-relationship that has me fascinated for over a year now - and throwing our favorite Durin boys in with it (note: Fíli and Kíli are not related in this universe)</p>
            </blockquote>





	My love has concrete feet

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Like O, Like H](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1820722) by [luninosity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luninosity/pseuds/luninosity). 



My love has concrete feet

My love’s an iron ball  
wrapped around your ankles  
over the waterfall

The address leads him to a small house in a minor suburb area, where more of those little houses are lined up neatly, garden fences painted in cheerful red and thoughtful green. This particular house has a blue fence, clear as the summer sky above him. The garden is small as is the house itself, but it radiates comfort and coziness. So much in fact that it makes his heart ache for a long moment, until he shoves the feelings down that are threatening to creep up his throat. Unchangeable facts. Nothing he can do that he hasn’t tried yet; and his attempts had not been answered. Hence unchangeable. 

He takes a deep breath and steps on the gravely path that leads up to the house, a few stray hibiscus leaves mingled with tiny grey stones. Six steps and he’s in front of the slightly battered wooden front door. He rings the bell and internally counts back from twenty. Technically, there’s no need to be nervous. Yet he is. Well, there’s an important conversation waiting for him. Hopefully with a good ending.

The door opens and reveals a small woman with thick brown locks and sharp, brown eyes. The similarity to her son is so striking he needs to take a breath before he can stick out a hand in greeting. 

“Fíli Oakenshield. We talked on the phone.”

His voice is calm and measured, years of business meetings and presentations during internships in his uncle’s company and press tours and interview after that, finally being of use. The woman inspects him for a moment, looking him up and down. She seems to approve of what she sees, because she nods slightly and shakes his hand.

“Dís Durin. Please come in.”

The house’s interior serves a new pang of sadness, the familiarity strange because Fíli’s never been here before. But it’s the same kind of house he grew up in as well. Small but cozy, beckoning closer with open arms. A refuge to go to when things weren’t going right, to breath in the warmth and love, to be a child once more, in the calming presence of a loving mother who listened and soothed and helped.

He sighs internally, carefully schooling his expression. Mrs. Durin leads him to the tiny Florida room in silence, beckoning him to take a seat in an old rattan armchair opposite herself. There’s tea served on the small table between them, tray of sandwiches and bowl of cookies arranged delicately around it. Fíli waits till she serves him, still in silence. She doesn’t seem nervous per se, but tense, guarded maybe. They sit for another moment, Mrs. Durin eyeing him and him eying her. He lowers his eyes first and scoops up his tea, blowing on the surface. His host seems to take that as a clue to talk.

“It’s very nice of you to come here personally. Most suitors have only written or emailed me, a few called. But you’re the only one who took the effort to drive out here.”

Fíli swallows his sip of tea – Earl Grey, drawn maybe a tad too long for his likening, but he won’t mention this, of course – and answers her over the rim of the cup with careful eye contact. 

“I prefer personal contact. Especially in such a serious matter.”

There’s a shadow falling over Mrs. Durin’s face, but her eyes shine with approval. He’s facing the situation instead of side-stepping or ignoring it via mail and email. In fact, this had been Fíli’s intention even before his uncle suggested it (clumsily as usual when it came to matters of the heart). Fíli might not look it, but he’s a fighter, although in a less offensive way than others. Tactics, schemes, carefully-thought-through plans – maybe overly so, sometimes –, that’s more his thing. It might take longer and more effort to reach his goal, but it’s almost always worth it. 

He’s chosen to take on this matter exactly like he would a new project. It wouldn’t do any good, not being himself. Not because being himself would give him any advantages, but giving the impression of hiding things about his life or his personality would be fatal. He’ll present his intents and thoughts and if Mrs. Durin finds him worthy, he’ll be glad. If she doesn’t, he can’t change that.

The situation is not ideal, far from it. Usually, a suitor coming to ask for his significant other’s hand actually knows said other. Has been in a relationship before or living in a contract with one another. These days, it’s not unusual anymore, contracts between Dominant and Submissive. Luckily so. But again, those unions are, mostly, made out of love. Adoration. Trust. Like any other wedding.

Here, it’s entirely different and that’s exactly what has Fíli’s stomach in knots and his brain running in circles for weeks now. 

“You are, I assume”, Mrs. Durin speaks up again, still not touching her own tea, preferring to fiddle with the hem of her dark blue blouse, “aware of the fact that this isn’t at all what my son wanted.”

It’s a slight stab, naturally, to hear that his offer isn’t welcomed openly. But Fíli understands, of course. Again, not an ideal situation to go from.

Mrs. Durin’s son, Kílian, is an actor. Not Hollywood-league – not yet, anyway – but not a bit-part player either. Several leading roles on Broadway both in London and here in New York, a few side parts in TV-series and, the last one, a leading role in British Television. Literary film, a popular book. And he’s terrific. Fíli knows, he’s seen it. Has seen all of Kílian’s media productions and one of his plays, two weeks ago. Has been in absolute awe about this man, this talent, staring Prosperos like he was made to be this character. Strong, passionate, furious. A whirlwind of emotion delivered so purely and straight to the heart it still sends a shiver down Fíli’s spine thinking of it.

Later that evening, Fíli had sat at his desk, a glass of Brunello Montepulciano next to him, and set up his formal offer, addressed to Mrs. Durin as the Family’s Head. Had expressed his interest to meet her in person to discuss further steps, make his intentions clear. He didn’t really expect an answer let alone an invitation for tea. 

Still, from Kílian’s point of view it’s not an ideal situation at all. If it was, there wouldn’t be suitors at all. He’d not been openly out, neither as gay nor as a submissive. Had been ‘baseline’, like they used to call it; ever since the first time he appeared in the local papers as a young actor fascinating his audience. No one was particularly interested in his private life and surely, all of this could have been avoided. Until Kílian had been seen leaving a certain club a few months back. Fíli had known him already back then, in fact, if from afar. Had seen several TV productions and caught himself dreaming of chocolate brown eyes and a wicked grin. He’d been drawn to Kílian, slightly younger than himself, not because of his looks, but because of what he expressed both in words and acting. Back-stage interviews and Theatre advertisement, where he gave fiery speeches about character development and important support of young actors. Putting others first, not himself, encouraging young talents to not be afraid of auditions, but to take matters in their own hands and be brave and forward.

Of course, all of this had received a huge blow after the incident, his unwanted outing. And now, everything Kílian Durin ever said is in the critiques, regarding him identifying as a submissive. Discussions have risen, protest, even. Should a submissive talk like this in public? About men and women forging their own destinies? An unclaimed submissive at that? This is why Fíli is here. To present his conditions for entering a contract with Mrs. Durin’s son. It’s convenient for both sides, a fact both his uncle and his publishers had pointed out mere days after the media had been swarmed by the news that Kílian Durin was an unclaimed submissive. They didn’t need to. Fíli had known he’d make the proposal the moment those words flashed over his TV screen. He couldn’t not.

He’d always been open about his orientation, both being gay and identifying as a Dom. He didn’t give interviews about it – though this could be something considered in the future, should Mrs. Durin say yes and allow her son to marry him. Fíli doesn’t like the idea of being reduced to being a Dom only. He’s a writer, crime novels, and he likes to think that his books are the reason people want to talk to him. Reporters, more specifically. Of course that’s utopian. Journalists always want to know everything, want more than the boring talk about plot arcs and character development. Fíli very clearly remembers the specific press conference where one journalist kept asking about whether he related to the main character in his books, Detective Chief Inspector Dean O’Gorman. The blond had known what the reporter had implied, had tried to steer the questions back to another level, but said reporter wouldn’t back down. So in the end, Fíli had looked him square in the eye, all Dominant. 

“Well, I can highly relate to Mr. O’Gorman in the way that he’s homosexual, like me. Does this answer your question?”

He’d heard the way Dori, his media adviser had facepalmed behind the scenes, as well as Nori’s – his editor – snicker. But although this press conference had been the only time bestseller-writer Fíli Oakenshield had talked about his orientation, it had set off an avalanche. Again, speculations and prejudices rose. While his own situation was nothing compared to Kílian’s at the moment, Fíli too knows the downside of identifying as Dom or Sub without living in a contract. People look at him like he’s ready to pounce anyone in public any moment. Like some wild beast that cannot contain its urges. It’s ridiculous, of course, but, again, it’s not changeable. And it’s nothing against what Kílian is going through right now.

After his involuntary outing, it took only a few days to feel the obvious change this outing had brought along. Directors being hesitant considering Kílian for a part where previously, they’d welcomed him with a red carpet to their projects. Directors clumsily trying to explain the reasons: We’re not sure if you have the, uh, qualities required for this specific part. Meaning: as a submissive, he can’t possibly take up characters that are confident, independent, manly. That’s what makes Fíli furious above everything else. They dare to suddenly call Kílian Durin, former celebrated actor of complex parts, unmanly and not able to deliver the impression of mentally strong characters. It’s an impertinence and whenever the author thinks about it, he wants to strangle someone. Said directors, preferably. 

So they would both benefit from the marriage, even if there are is no love between them. It’s far from ideal and not exactly what Fíli had imagined his married life would be like. On the other hand, maybe he and Kílian can become friends, at the very least. Given time and patience, this might be an option. Of course, it would require a marriage with rules far from what society deems ‘traditional’. 

He doesn’t care. As long as it means keeping Kílian safe – which is ridiculous, really, because he doesn’t even know the other – and guaranteeing him an easier life, he would do it. He would do anything.

Mrs. Durin loudly clears her throat and Fíli, snapped out of his thoughts, directs a smile her way. 

“I am very much aware, yes, Ma’am. But I’m sure we can work something out that’s both in my interest and your son’s.”


End file.
